


Her Skin

by etoilecourageuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Depression, Diary/Journal, Gen, Grief/Mourning, HP Mental Health Fest, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Miscarriage, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the unthinkable happens, Narcissa discovers more about her mother than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Skin

The pain seemed to overwhelm her at times. Mother’s robes, made of pure dark silk and velvet, were spread out before her on the ground and Narcissa could barely stand to look at them yet did not close her eyes, could barely stand to touch them yet needed to, trembled as she let her hands slide over the fine fabric and buried her face in it, allowing her tears to flow.   
  
Tears… It surprised her, really, that there were still tears left inside of her after all those days of incessant crying, after all those days of such sorrow, such darkness and loneliness. It surprised her that still she seemed capable of weeping, as she had done nothing but sob for what felt like an eternity.   
  
Gone. Mother was gone, had chosen to leave this world and still it seemed impossible to understand, still Narcissa was scarcely able to process what had happened. What she had done, what her sweet  _Maman_  had done… Gone. She had been so angry at first, so angry at her, had desired nothing more than to scream, to scream out her agony at the top of her lungs and to curse her mother, but of course she hadn’t, of course her fury had soon given way to nothing but despair as she allowed herself to breathe, to think, to consider why... Gone. Mother was gone.   
  
The pain seemed to overwhelm her at times; Narcissa was alone, had insisted on returning to her childhood home on her own despite her husband’s protests, perhaps to spare him further breakdowns, perhaps out of naivety, as she had caught herself more than once in the so foolish hope that she would encounter her sisters. But she was alone. Of course she was alone, could have laughed at her folly had she not forgotten how to laugh too long ago. Why should they have come, why should they care? Bellatrix, who appeared to have forgotten about her family? Andromeda, who in her selfish longing for freedom had abandoned them all, turned her back to her mother and sisters and never returned? Why should they care, why should either of them care? They knew, knew about everything as Narcissa had so soon notified them, but there was silence. Nothing but silence; silence that caused the disappointment to weigh heavy upon her heart. How connected they had once been, how much they had once adored each other… But those times were long past, nothing but distant memories of what felt like a different life.   
  
Mother…   
  
It was so difficult. It was so difficult to go on, so difficult to still linger within the walls of the house that Narcissa had once called her home, whether for an hour or a minute… It was so difficult, after everything that had happened, after what she had seen… But she had no other choice than to go on. It was her duty.   
  
She was gone. Mother was gone, gone and would never return, had taken her life in a moment of greatest despair, in a moment the shadows had fully, truly overwhelmed her. Narcissa, whose intention it had been to surprise her with a visit, had found her, lying there in the bathroom, eyes closed and nearly smiling, as though she were sleeping and dreaming the sweetest dream, dreaming of Father. But Mother was not asleep; she was not dreaming. Hadn’t she always been so afraid of blood, terrified even of the shallowest wound? Now it seemed to be everywhere, billowing still from gaping cuts upon her wrists, staining her arms, even her chest and face…There were older scars, too, tiny lines and even words carved into her arms that had nearly faded into invisibility, that Narcissa had never before noticed, yet were still lingering there upon her skin, born from what seemed like nothing but pure self-hatred.   
  
Narcissa had screamed at first, had screamed and nearly broken down beside her mother’s body, had held her, cradled her so carefully within her arms and refused to believe that it was the truth, that she was gone, that she, too, had abandoned her in such a cruel, such a horrifying way. She had screamed, cried more than she had ever before cried in her life and only slowly begun to realise what had happened, that Mother had chosen to leave, to leave so quickly that she refused her daughter the chance to say good-bye.   
  
Her husband had been her rock, her sweet Lucius who as though he had sensed had chosen to join her and so tenderly pulled her away from  _Maman’s_  body despite her cries, despite her struggles, who had so patiently endured her railing and despairing, her nearly hysterical attempts to free herself from his grip, who had cared for her so lovingly. He, too, seemed overwhelmed by emotion for a moment as his relationship to Druella Black had always been special, the two of them sharing a particular fondness for one another, but he would not lose his composure, would not allow himself to shed any tears until two days after, when Narcissa had awoken from her delirious state of grief at last.   
  
There she was now, alone amidst her mother’s most valued possessions, and amidst her robes and jewellery, things she had never been truly attached to yet always worn with pride. There she was now, and could still feel her presence as though she had never left, as though at any moment the door would open and  _Maman_  would step into the room, smiling at her daughter and gently chastising her for opening her wardrobe without permission. Smile… She had been smiling as… There she was now, alone. There she was now, left behind with countless questions, countless doubts, left behind with countless tears.   
  
Hadn’t she once believed to know her? Hadn’t Narcissa once believed to know Druella Black, hadn’t she admired her so? How strong she had been, her mother, how endlessly strong, facing life and its tragedies with her head held high, always smiling, never to surrender. Surrender… She had surrendered, had given herself to the darkness and succumbed to the shadows, shadows that perhaps had surrounded her for too long. She had surrendered, and Narcissa had not seen, had closed her eyes to the truth, unknowingly turned away from her in moments of greatest despair, of greatest need.   
  
She could have saved her. She could have saved her! If only she had realised… She could have saved her… Hadn’t she been all Mother had left? After Father had fallen in the war, after Bella and Andy had… Hadn’t she been her everything, her last rock? Why… Why had she abandoned her, too, why had she abandoned her mother who had always been there for her, who had so constantly pushed back her own emotions for her, only for her? She could have saved her…   
  
The pain seemed to overwhelm her at times. The pain, the guilt… How dare she. How dare she claim that she knew her mother, how dare she assume… Narcissa had known nothing about her, nothing at all. She could have saved her… It was more than once that Lucius had appeared to read her thoughts, that he had wrapped his arms about her body and whispered to her, ensured her that it was not her fault, that it could not possibly have been prevented… But how could he know, how could he know that it wasn’t? How could  _she_  know?   
  
She could have saved her… Narcissa was scarcely able to move as she sat there on the floor, still cradling one of Mother’s robes so close to her, did not notice at first that there was something in the pocket, a small notebook, perhaps a diary, that bore her mother’s handwriting, bound in black leather and hidden so deep within the fabric as though  _Maman_  had wanted to ensure that no one would ever discover it. She held her breath, hesitated, so desperately desiring to open it, to read whatever the content, yet also afraid, afraid to intrude into Mother’s privacy, even in Death, afraid to…   
  
It wasn’t right. If she had hidden the book in such a way, sealing the content with spells, spells that had merely been broken through her passing, if she had wanted no one, not even her daughters, to… It wasn’t right. And yet it was necessary, so necessary as Narcissa felt that only if she read she would understand her, understand what she had done; only if she read, only if Mother’s secrets were revealed at last would they both find their peace. She could have saved her…   
  
How she trembled as she opened the book, still feeling a powerful burst of Mother’s magic, how she trembled as she began to read, her eyes flying over the beautiful cursive letters without taking them in at first. It wasn’t right. But there was no pulling back.   
  


*

  
  
___**1948\. August.**_  
  
The pain was excruciating. Druella could scarcely move, could scarcely breathe as his curses, born of magic darker than she had ever seen, seemed to have penetrated her lungs and organs, as whatever poison he had instilled in her seemed to tear her apart from the inside; as he seemed to have succeeded at last, succeeded at breaking each bone within her body and doing other things to her, unspeakable things that were too atrocious even to be remembered, succeeded at breaking her soul. Her once so pristine skin was covered in blood, covered in gaping wounds, blazing red and dirty, burns and cuts, bruises and… How dizzy she was, dizzy and desperate to give in, to surrender to the darkness at last and to be free, free of agony… But it was not her choice to leave this world as only he would decide over life and death, and he would never allow her to go. Never.   
  
The pain was excruciating, went so beyond her endurance but what other chance did she have than to endure? Unconsciousness seemed so far away, would not come to release her, would not come to bring her relief. A nightmare… It all felt like such a nightmare to her…   
  
How long had she been trapped? How long had she been trapped within the walls of her own home? Had it been days, weeks, perhaps months? She did not know and did not care, had lost any feeling for time, had no memory of the days before her ordeal. Mother… Father… Even with her eyes closed she could still see them, could still see their faces contorted in pain, their bodies lifeless upon the ground, eyes still wide with fright, even in her rare moments of sleep would she dream of them… And of Cygnus, Druella dreamed of Cygnus, her beloved who knew not what had happened, who knew not where she was… It was her fault… It was all…   
  
She had refused at first, had refused so despairingly to believe, had struggled as long as she had been capable of struggling… But perhaps it was the truth. Perhaps it was not her mind attempting to fool her, playing such cruel games, perhaps it was the truth… Perhaps they were gone, truly. Perhaps she, too, would soon be granted… No. She would never be granted the privilege to die. Would be his puppet as long as he took pleasure in her agony, until she had become worthless, even to him. She would never be granted the privilege to die. Never…   
  


*

  
  
The book fell from her hands. Narcissa gasped, gasped so desperately for air where none seemed to be given, would have collapsed had she not been sitting, leaning heavily against the bed. She felt nauseous, wished that she had never seen, that she had never read… Mother… Sweet Mother, sweet  _Maman_ … What she had experienced…   
  
One night. One single night had taken everything from her, had changed everything… The man, faceless, nameless until this present day, had broken into her mother’s childhood home, searching for money, perhaps something else, had then overwhelmed her parents as they had caught him, overwhelmed them, murdered them so cruelly, not with a curse but his dagger as though to punish them, to make them suffer for attempting to protect their home.   
  
Mother had been no older than eighteen, long betrothed to Father whom she adored so beyond belief… The wedding had been days away and she had paid a visit to his family, oblivious to the massacre within her home’s walls. Night had long fallen as she returned and he had lingered, had waited for her, locked her into the cellar and made her his prisoner.   
  
What had been done to her… What he had done… His puppet. He had made her his puppet, had tortured her, physically, emotionally, had violated her in the worst possible ways and not allowed her to surrender to death… Another fresh wave of nausea overcame Narcissa, caused her to press  _Maman’s_  clothing even closer to her chest as though to embrace it, as she had never embraced her mother.   
  
Perhaps he would have killed her, after all, perhaps he would have granted her to leave… Perhaps he would have broken her. But Father had found her, had found her, saved her after merely four days of despairing search, days that must have felt like an eternity to them both. He had saved her, delivered the man to Azkaban to receive the Dementor’s Kiss, had saved her and cared for her then, with such love, such endless affection and such patience.   
  
The recovery had taken months, years until even the last traces of what the man, the  _monster_  had done to her body faded and she regained full control over her movement and breathing. But the scars upon her soul would linger forever, would deprive her of sleep, at times nearly of her sanity… They would linger forever, would conjure shadows that came to circle her, that…   
  
Narcissa had wanted to throw the book away so desperately, had wanted to cease reading, to tear the pages apart as though it could erase the content… But no. No, she had continued, had continued to read as more and more horrors had unfolded right before her eyes, as only slowly she began to realise, to process and to understand what a torment life must have been for her, her dear mother who had so often smiled at her yet whose eyes had always showed a hint of sadness.   
  
She had read, had read about everything, Mother’s breakdowns, the unborn children she and Father had lost as another consequence of the man’s abuse, had read about her endless concern and burning, unconditional love for her daughters, even long after Bella and Andy both had broken away, and she had read about Father. Father, who had always been her rock, who had caught her in moments she had been in danger of falling, who had so constantly saved her from drowning. She had read about Father, whose untimely passing had nearly destroyed them all and taken away any hold from  _Maman_ , as only he had known her, truly, as she would never allow herself to entrust herself to her children.   
  
_Worthless._  
  
Worthless… How many times had Narcissa found the word written upon the paper, even carved into Mother’s skin, not by the nameless man but by herself in moments of despair that went beyond any imagination, not all those years ago but recently, so… A broken woman. Mother had died a broken woman… No. No, she had not been broken, despite all the agony, all the suffering, despite all the sorrow and grief… She had never been broken, never, had been strong, so much stronger than this… She had never been worthless.  
  
How much she admired her. How much Narcissa admired her mother, so much more now than she had before, and how ashamed she was… Ashamed of her foolish rage, ashamed of living in the belief that she had known her, ashamed of not seeing, not realising, of not being there.  _Maman_  had always been there for her, had always listened to her problems, no matter how small, how insignificant, had comforted her and her sisters despite Andromeda’s angry claims of the opposite. No matter how distant, how reserved she had appeared at times, she had always been there, had lived only for her husband, had lived only for her daughters and how dare Narcissa accuse her of selfishness… How dare she! If only she had been there… She could have saved her…   
  
She had read about everything. Everything, Narcissa had read about everything, had even seen the last, the final entry, written in black ink, the handwriting so shaky that it scarcely looked like Mother’s. Again Narcissa gasped as she recognised the date, again her tears began to fall…   
  


*

  
  
__**_1973\. November._**  
  
The end. This was the end… She could no longer go on, could no longer hold on… This was the end, she was so weak, so worthless… This was the end. What would keep her still in this world, if she was alone? Alone… When had she last seen her daughters, her sweet daughters who all lived their own lives now, who had abandoned her? Bellatrix, Andromeda… Only Narcissa was left, sweet little Cissy who still came to visit her, who at times looked at her with such worry within her eyes that her gaze seemed to burn her… She seemed to notice, seemed to know, to sense… But how could Druella possibly tell her? How could she possibly tell her what weighed so heavy upon her heart if all she desired was for her little girl to be protected, to be safe? To be happy? Wasn’t she such a burden on her already, wouldn’t it be for the best?   
  
Worthless. She was worthless… This was the end. Who would miss her, if she left this world now, who would weep for her? Cissy? Would she… Cissy… She had her husband now, her Lucius, no longer needed her mother… This was the end. Even her last strength had left her, even… Strength. She had never been strong, strong like her husband, strong like her daughters, had merely fooled herself into believing that perhaps she was, that perhaps she had a right to… She had never been strong.   
  
This was the end… How she trembled as she led the mirror shard to her eyes at first, to look at it, simply to look at it until her sight began to blur, and then to her wrists, as she… This was the end. So soon she would be reunited with Cygnus, so soon she would see her parents again, her parents who had so cruelly been taken from this life and not known how much she had loved them. So soon…   
  
She missed them, missed them every day, every minute, her parents and her husband… Cygnus, who had been her rock, who had loved her so despite her weakness, who had always caught her when she had been in danger of falling, saved her not only from her tormentor but from each day, who as long as he lived had caused her to believe that she was not worthless. Cygnus…   
  
The sudden pain in her wrist caused her to wince but still she would go on, would give herself to the darkness as it came to claim her, succumbed to the dizziness and closed her eyes, smiling. Reunited… So soon they would be reunited at last, so soon it would be over. So soon…  
  


*

  
  
Narcissa screamed. She screamed, screamed at the top of her lungs and jolted up from her pillow, heavily breathing… Pillow… Who had brought her home, who had brought her to her bed, hadn’t she been in Mother’s bedroom, clutching her robes, hadn’t she… Lucius. It must have been Lucius, he must have followed her after all… Who else could have known, who else could have… Lucius…   
  
Her head seemed to burst with agony and how dizzy she was, so dizzy that she could scarcely see, that the entire world seemed to be spinning, so dizzy that she scarcely realised that she was not alone. When had she lost consciousness, when had oblivion taken her? She had no memory, had no memory at all…   
  
“ _Ma petite..._ ”  
  
Mother. Mother’s voice spoke to her, called her by her nickname… Mother. Again she screamed, screamed as she blinked away the light-headedness and saw her then, saw her so clearly… _Maman_  was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her with such worry, placed a hand gently upon her brow and she could feel her, could feel her touch… Impossible. It was impossible, it couldn’t possibly be true! Impossible…   
  
How she smiled… How Mother smiled at her, her sweet smile, and yet how sad she appeared… Was it her mind? Was it her mind, attempting to fool her, had insanity claimed her at last? She could feel her…   
  
“ _Maman…_ ” she murmured, barely able to speak, each syllable a torment, began to cough then, a cough that she was incapable of suppressing, that felt as though it were to burn her lungs from the inside. When had she fallen ill? What had happened, what…   
  
“The fever, Cissy,” Mother spoke as though she had read her thoughts, as though she had noticed her confusion. “You slept for four days, you were dreaming... It was just a dream, just a nightmare,  _ma petite._ ”  
  
The fever. Only slowly her memory would return to her, only slowly would she realise… The fever... Of course… She had been befallen by illness, a fever that had frightened Lucius so beyond belief, had frightened her… Lucius… He had called her mother, asked her to care for… The fever. A dream. Had it all been a dream, then, Mother… Was she alive, truly, had it all been a dream? A dream…   
  
It had felt so real, had felt so incredibly real, it… A dream. She was alive, Mother was alive, she… A dream. Narcissa felt how tears began to roll down her cheeks, felt how they began to moisten her skin, tears of nothing but pure relief, would have laughed had she had the strength. A dream… It had been a dream! Mother, sweet Mother, she was right here…   
  
“ _Maman…_ ” she repeated, forced herself to straighten her body merely to collapse into her arms moments later, shaken by sobs. A dream… “Don’t leave me,  _Maman…_  Don’t ever leave me alone…”  
  
Mother would no longer speak, would not respond but merely held her, held her so close to her, gently rocking her, making silent promises that she would not leave, that it would be all right. How beautiful it was, to feel her so close, how beautiful it was to know that… A dream. It had been a dream.   
  
When what felt like hours later they pulled away at last, when Mother gently lowered her back into the pillow, Narcissa noticed that the sleeve of her robe slipped, slipped only slightly… quickly, instinctively she took hold of  _Maman’s_  arm to look at it before she had a chance to pull back, felt so foolish and yet it was so necessary, so necessary to ensure herself that she had dreamed, only dreamed, that it was all right, that… It seemed impossible even to scream as she saw them. There were scars upon her mother’s skin.  _Worthless._


End file.
